A Burdened House
by Siemsen
Summary: AU. In a district plagued by rampant crime, Arthur Kirkland strives to keep his group safe. But when one of his young protégés is kidnapped by a rival gang with only a mysterious stray to show for it, Arthur will do anything in his power to get him back. At the behest of his subordinates, he enlists the harmless stray's help, but is there more to him than first meets the eye?
1. The Beginning

"Now you two be careful out there, alright? I want you back home in one piece, so don't do anything stupid or reckless."

"Yes, sir."

Orbs of layered emerald fixed themselves on the eldest of the pair, who looked completely inattentive. "That goes for you too, Al."

The blue-eyed teenager rolled his eyes as he uttered, "Yes, _mother_."

Green eyes narrowed into slits, "I'm serious, Alfred. You run into any kind of trouble out there-"

"And we run away, yeah yeah yeah, I get it. Can we go now?"

The older man regarded him uneasily, his eyes examining the petulant teenager's face for any trace of insubordination. When he found none, he queried, "You both know the rules, right?"

Alfred sighed as his younger brother nodded silently.

"Because I can run them by you again if I have t-"

"T-that won't be necessary, sir." the more soft-spoken of the two hastily assured before his brother could make some snide remark.

Arthur seemed dubious, "Won't it, Matthew?" at the head shake that followed, Arthur ordered, "Recite them for me."

Matthew looked dumbfounded, "I-I'm sorry?"

"The rules. Recite them."

Matthew's purplish-blue eyes were wide as he tried going over the ridiculously long list of rules in his head, his pinkish lips parting to relay them in order only for his voice to give way and crack before he could even start.

"Well? I'm waiting."

"I- I, eugh-"

Alfred released a huff of air, quickly coming to his brother's rescue by enumerating, "Don't leave the boundaries, stay close together, don't wander off, be cautious, don't make too much noise, if something goes wrong, run away, use your gun only when you have to, don't dilly dally, if caught, don't give away the position of the group because you will be found, blah blah blah. That good enough for you?"

"You forgot one." Arthur pointed out, as if knowing from the start that Alfred would purposely exclude the golden rule.

"And which one would that be?" Alfred inquired with mock interest. He could vaguely see Matthew mouthing the rule, but kept his eyes completely locked on Arthur's.

"Don't. Play. The hero." Arthur spelled out slowly, a challenging glint in his eyes just daring Alfred to counter that notion.

Thankfully, Alfred did not, instead breaking eye contact with the man he considered his mentor to stare at Matthew, who glanced up with a sheepish look. Alfred blinked.

"Dude, did you just fart?"

"I'm sorry." Matthew's apology emerged in the form of an admittance.

"That's so gross."

"Hey, don't act like you haven't done it about a thousand times." Matthew feebly defended himself.

"At least I don't hide the fact that I do it by making them silent." Alfred retorted, smirking.

Matthew admitted, "To be honest, I'd rather you did."

"Of course you would, you sneaky fuck."

Matthew smiled cheekily at Alfred, who couldn't help but smile back.

"I hate to bring this illuminating conversation to an end here, boys, but we do have to press on."

Matthew straightened up significantly, "I'm ready, sir."

Alfred mimicked his action, "Ditto."

_Bloody hell, when did they get so tall?_

"Good," Arthur mumbled, eyeing them bitterly as he was forced to crane his head up to meet their stares, "Now, before I send you out there, I need to make sure that you both have some sort of firearm with you."

Alfred patted his holster indicatively, which currently held his handgun, prompting Arthur to nod in acknowledgement and turn his pointed gaze on Matthew, who had since slid his rucksack off his shoulders and begun rummaging through it, uncertainty clouding his features.

Arthur's incredibly bushy eyebrows furrowed together, giving him the appearance of an eyebrow-less man with a particularly large and hairy caterpillar laid above his piercing eyes. "Matthew?"

"Hang on, it's in here, I just- ugh!" Matthew unwillingly released a cry of frustration, his rimless glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. Where the fuck had he left it, he couldn't possibly have dropped it when-

Matthew's eyes widened at the startling realisation.

_Motherfucking shit._

Alfred frowned, "Hey, Matt, what's wrong?"

Arthur's penetrative gaze morphed into a suspicious one, "You don't have it, do you?"

Matthew's thoughts were just a flurry of words at this point.

_Shit shit shit, he knows, he fucking knows, what do I do, oh God, what do I do? I don't want to stay behind, I __**can't**__ stay behind, not again, not after Kiku, I can't-_

"Looks like you're just going to have to stay here, then."

"NO!" both Arthur and Alfred had the grace to look flabbergasted by Matthew's sudden outburst, "No, I-! I can find it, it's in here, it has to be, just wait, it's in here, I know it is, I-" Matthew stopped short, his face splitting into a wide grin as he allowed a sigh of relief to escape his lips, "_Oh thank God_."

"Did you find it?" Alfred questioned, stepping forward to peer over Matthew's shoulder.

Matthew nodded vigorously, zipping the bag back up before Alfred could so much as take a peek, "Yeah. It was at the very bottom- that's why I had trouble finding it."

He appeared to be addressing Alfred, but he'd give the occasional furtive glance in Arthur's direction, clearly indicating that it was for his sake that he said this.

"So you have it?"

"Yes." Matthew breathed, a pallid hand reaching up to push his glasses back into place.

Arthur looked sceptical, but deemed it unnecessary to address the issue any longer, pressing on with a relenting, "Okay then. Now, you know what time you're to be home, right?"

At their simultaneous nods, Arthur continued, "Good. If you're not here by then, I'll send someone out to get you. You know where to go, don't you?"

Alfred rolled his eyes as Matthew dutifully replied, "The food bank."

"That's right," Arthur inclined his head approvingly, "When you get there, don't let your guard down. Goodness knows who just might be lurking around the corner to ambush you."

"Paranoid much?" Alfred jibbed as Matthew merely stared at Arthur, hanging on to his every word.

"If paranoia is what will keep you alive, then yes," Arthur stressed, his hand running through his hair, pausing when it came to the nape of his neck, "Just to be clear... you two have everything you need, right? Torches, guns, bags-"

His protégés shot him twin lours, not the least bit amused.

"Alright, alright. If you've got everything, then... I guess there's nothing else to be said," Alfred and Matthew looked momentarily relieved by the revelation, before Arthur hastily tacked on, "Unless you don't want to do this, in which case it's perfectly okay if you-"

"Damn it, Artie, we're wasting time!" Alfred vocalised Matthew's thoughts, "The Braginskis could've already grabbed all the stock for themselves by now."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Arthur apologised curtly as Matthew's arms looped through the straps of his rucksack, getting ready to go, "You know I love you, right?"

Alfred released something akin to an "Oh God" while Matthew chirped, "We love you too."

Arthur smiled, but it was slightly strained, a fact which Matthew noted immediately, "Just be careful, boys."

"We will," Alfred turned back dismissively and all but dashed towards the exit, "Come on, Mattie, let's go!"

"I-I'm coming." Matthew made to follow, only to be stopped by an outstretched arm. His eyebrows creased into a light frown as he tilted his head in Arthur's direction, silently questioning the man.

"You take care of your brother, Matthew. He's a brash one, not exactly known for his level-headedness. I fear he'll do something reckless, something stupid. Why, last time was proof of that when he stopped to save a hobo, completely putting not only himself, but Jack in danger too." Arthur paused momentarily to take a breath, levelling Matthew with a slight glare, "Matthew, you need to promise me that should you encounter someone in need of help, you'll leave them be."

Matthew appeared scandalised, "But Arthur-!"

"No, Matthew, you two need to spare the heroics for another time. Alfred seems to forget all too often that we live in a very dangerous place, inhabited by very dangerous people. He wants to help, and that's fine, but it isn't when it puts not only himself but others at risk. See, the problem with Alfred is that he's too contumacious for his own good. He'll probably want to get into some sort of mischief and drag you down with him when everything goes to hell, but you cannot allow that to happen, Matthew. You just can't."

Matthew swallowed down the large lump that had formed in his throat, causing his Adam's apple to bob uneasily as he whispered, "I won't."

"Won't you?" Arthur questioned, staring at him with something that made Matthew's heart involuntarily pang with pain. It was an emotion he'd seen far too many a time on this man's face when Arthur would occasionally look at him, and it hurt even more due to the fact that he'd spent the majority of his life with this man.

That emotion was doubt.

"You need to stand your ground and help him get this done. This isn't some sort of game that you can play, there are people out there who have the same agenda as we do, who are going to loot the food bank _tonight_-"

"I know, Arthur." Matthew interjected, his eyes wide with seriousness, "I know. And I promise you, that I will not let Alfred run headlong into any unnecessary danger."

Arthur stared at him, his layered eyes the colour of a variety of emerald boring holes into the depths of his very soul. It unnerved Matthew, being watched as if he were some sort of insect that could so easily be squashed. He hated how Arthur looked at him with those eyes filled with worry, doubt and hesitance, as if he wanted to keep Alfred and Matthew here while he himself went out to get supplies. Matthew hated that the man he thought of as a father/brother/mentor/parental figure thought he wasn't up to the task, hated that Arthur thought he was too compassionate, he hated that Arthur's trust in him was so limited, but most of all...

Matthew hated that Arthur thought he was weak.

"And I promise," Matthew continued with as much determination as he could muster, "that we won't stop to help anyone out. No matter what."

Arthur put his hand on Matthew's shoulder, his expression completely stoic as he uttered, "I hope you can keep that promise, Matthew."  
Before Matthew could even begin to formulate a reply, a shout interrupted them, "MATTIE! Are we going, or not?!"

Arthur squeezed Matthew's shoulder before letting his hand drop to his side, "Go, Matthew. Go, and think about what I've said."

"Yes, dad." the words came regurgitating out of his mouth before he could stop them, and no sooner had he unleashed them upon the world than he instantly regretted it. He barely registered Arthur's green eyes slowly widening in shock as he promptly dashed out of the room in embarrassment, flying past Alfred, who'd been awaiting him at the doorway. Matthew flung the door open, his head bowed down in shame, and slammed it shut with a loud clang that reverberated across the hall, leaving behind a stupefied Alfred in his wake.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Alfred peered back inside the living room to find Arthur staring at the spades-printed wall in front of him, his body completely immobile and his lips firmly pressed together to form a thin line. He seemed completely catatonic, his eyes so wide that they looked like they were going to pop out of his sockets. Alfred backed away from the entrance to the living room and promptly took his leave of the house, following Matthew with hurried steps.

He caught up to him in next to no time at all, falling in step with Matthew and burying his hands in his pockets.

"What was that all about?"Alfred asked, keeping his eyes locked on his younger brother.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but found that no words would emerge, so he awkwardly closed it again and shook his head, "Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing." Alfred noted, a slight tint of worry seeping through those eyes of baby-blue.

"Does it look like I give a shit what it looked like?" Matthew snapped, a particular bite to his tone that made Alfred subconsciously take a step away from him.

The worry Alfred seemed to hold for Matthew only increased, as snapping was definitely something most idiosyncratic of the younger teen.

"Dude..."

Matthew stared at the ground, shamed for the second time that day, "I'm sorry."

Alfred stared at him silently, his eyebrows creasing into a light frown.

"Don't worry about it."

Matthew dared a glance his way, sighing, "I called Arthur 'dad'."

Silence.

Alfred blinked, "You... called Arthur 'dad'."

"Uh huh." Matthew confirmed, avoiding all eye contact.

"...And that's why you bolted out of the room?"

"...Yes."  
Alfred shook his head, a small smile creeping up on his face, "Boy, if I had a dollar for every time I accidentally called Arthur ''Pops' in my lifetime, I'd be a millionaire."

Matthew tried to conceal his astonishment, but failed miserably as he uttered, "You've called him 'Pops'?"

"Yeah," Alfred grinned, looking almost proud of himself, "On at least three occasions. He didn't seem to like it much, but it was worth it. Besides," Alfred's grin widened exponentially. "I never ran away from him like a total pussy because I showed him that he's like a father to me."

"Well..." Matthew cocked his head to the side, "When you put it that way it... does sound a bit stupid."

"Oh, it sounds stupid any way you put it, Matt."

This coming from the biggest idiot Matthew knew.

"I know, but... Al, you should've seen his face when I called him that."

"I did. It was priceless."

"No, Al, it... it shocked him."

Alfred frowned, "Well yeah... it's bound to. I mean, a bunch of kids not that much younger than yourself suddenly start calling you 'dad'. That would shock anybody. I mean, if that ever happened to me," Alfred shuddered, "Well, I'd think I'd have a heart attack."

"Not that much younger, Al? The man's got at least a decade on us."

Alfred shrugged, "Well, compared to how much younger kids usually are than their parents..."

"Besides, we're not just a 'bunch of kids'," Matthew insisted, his tone slightly suggesting the offence he took at Alfred's comment, "Arthur practically raised us."

"Yeah, but calling him 'dad' makes him feel old."

"I suppose..." Matthew trailed off, his purplish-blue eyes still locked on the concrete road beneath his feet, "But Alfred, his face-"  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. And as amusing as this situation is, we do have something to do, y'know? Let's just focus on the task at hand here, then we'll get back to Art- I mean, _Dad_, later." Alfred emphasised, smirking.

"Okay..."

With nothing left to be said, they carried on with their eyes peeled and their ears strained. The two brothers walked in complete silence, neither daring to break it. The gravel crunched beneath their feet with every step they took, their legs moving in complete sync with each other. Matthew bit his lip, still berating himself for calling Arthur 'dad' while Alfred contemplated whether or not they had time to take a trip to the (nearly empty( candy store nearby.

"We're almost there." Alfred announced, prompting Matthew's head to snap up. He stopped short as Alfred continued, a panicked countenance overtaking his features.

"Al?"

"What is it?"

"W-we can't go that way."  
"Sure we can, it's right around the corner."

Matthew's breath hitched at the familiar words, "But didn't you listen to what Arthur said about going 'around the corner'?"

"What are you-" realisation dawned upon his face and Alfred let out a hearty laugh, much to Matthew's horror, "Don't tell me you took that literally?"

"Keep it down, Al." Matthew pleaded, his eyes whizzing about in paranoia.

"Matthew, relax. There's no one here."

Matthew was unconvinced, his eyes of purplish-blue reflecting his uncertainty and wariness, "Alfred, be careful."

Alfred smiled as he led the way, with Matthew trailing behind him, Arthur's words about danger lurking around every corner still gnawing at his insides.

They reached the infamous corner and Alfred pressed himself up against the brick wall, motioning for Matthew to do the same. When he had, Alfred leaned closer to the edge, slowly popping his head out to peer over it.

Now, Alfred had been prepared for three scenarios:

Scenario 1) No one would be here and he'd be able to sneak in and grab some comestibles before busting out ASAP.

Scenario 2) The Braginskis or some other low-life gang would already be busy emptying the place.

Scenario 3) No one would be here but the place would be empty.

Soaking in the sight that beheld him with dread, Alfred did not fail to note that he'd at least gotten one thing correct: the Braginskis were indeed here, if their large range rover was anything to go by. They were quite far away, and were but mere indiscernible figures in the night, but they were still too close for comfort. Unlike any of his predictions, however, they weren't busy looting the food bank- rather, they seemed preoccupied with something else, as they were currently encircling something whilst brandishing heavy bats and butcher knives. A few pleas could be heard, followed by the sound of booming laughter as one of them whacked whoever was on the floor with a baseball bat.

"What was that?" Matthew questioned, alarmed by the sound that the hit emitted, "Al, what was it?"

Alfred's eyes widened to the size of saucers, "Hey Matt..."

"Y-yeah?"

"They're here."

Those were the very words that Matthew had feared hearing, his heart sinking to his stomach as he queried in a breathless whisper, "What are we going to do?"

"I think- I think I might have an idea."

Matthew waited for Alfred to elaborate with wide eyes.

"See, they're busy with something- I'm not sure what, but they're definitely not focused on the food bank. I could sneak in and nick some stuff while you keep watch."

Matthew didn't seem to like this idea at all, "Al..."

"Don't worry," Alfred assured, his eyes still locked on their adversaries, "I've got this." Alfred tapped his gun for emphasis, "And you've got yours, so if something goes wrong, you'll fire a bullet and I'll come get you. Got it?"

Matthew nodded vigorously, although he seemed slightly pale as if the thought of having to actually use his gun terrified him.

"Hey," Matthew almost jumped at the hand that was placed on his shoulder, "I'll be back."

Matthew gave off a nod, knowing that Alfred said this for the sole purpose of reassuring him this was not going to end the same way as it did last time.

Alfred gave Matthew's shoulder a squeeze, "This should only take five minutes, ten maximum. Be careful, Matt."

And with that, Alfred slipped away around the corner like a shadow, out of Matthew's line of sight.

"Yeah... you too." Matthew breathed, his hand clenching around his shoulder strap.

/./././././

To say that Alfred was afraid would be a gross understatement.

The glasses-adorned teen was petrified, his heart pounding inside his ribcage like a crazed jack hammer.

Now, Alfred wasn't scared of the Braginskis; not by a long shot. After all, it took more than a gang of thugs to make Alfred wet himself.

However, despite the fact that others claimed he had a god complex, he knew better than to pick a fight with at least a dozen armed men. Alfred had always been a one-on-one kinda guy, and he knew exactly when he was outnumbered.

This was one of those times.

Proving that he had some amount of self-preservation, Alfred made his footsteps as light as possible, releasing an inaudible sigh of relief when he got to the double doors. The Braginskis were right behind him, and Alfred knew that if he didn't hurry this up one of them was bound to look his way and all hell would break loose. The doors were locked, a chunky chain sporting a padlock tied around the handles. Biting his lip in annoyance, Alfred crouched down and procured a lockpick from his pocket. He inserted it in the keyhole and set off to work, twisting it this way and that in a vain attempt at unlocking it.

He struggled getting it undone, eventually forced to give up when he feared he may be making too much noise. He glanced back at the wall to see Matthew coming into view, a questioning look etched upon his face. Alfred swallowed the bile-like substance rising up in his throat and shook his head, motioning for Matthew to stay hidden with an outstretched hand.

This, if anything, only served to worry Matthew, and he tentatively did what was implied of him, his hands shaking at his sides.

A pathetic plea cut through the macabre-like silence, making Matthew freeze in shock and prompting Alfred to drop his lockpick. It clattered to the ground, creating a loud noise as Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. He waited a moment with baited breath, not daring to make a sound for fear of being caught. Luckily, though, his fears were unwarranted, as the Braginskis in question were quite a few ways away, busy harassing their victim, and therefore could not hear such a thing. Alfred released a sigh of relief and rushed back to Matthew as quietly as possible, his upper body leaned forwards to make himself appear smaller.

When Alfred reached Matthew, he pushed his younger brother out of view and ushered him behind the corner, slipping past after him. Matthew regarded him quizzically, posing, "Al, wha-?"

"It doesn't work, we'll have to find another way in."

Matthew seemed disheartened at this grievous news, his face falling instantly and his gaze hardening.

"Maybe... maybe we can try busting the lock some way." Alfred proposed, unsure of himself.

"With what?"

Alfred's body froze, his eyes widening slightly before he promptly ran a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth together in annoyance.

Matthew lowered his eyes, meekly suggesting, "Maybe we should just turn back- Arthur would understand, in fact, he'd-"

"No." Alfred shot down.

"B-but Al-"

"I said 'no'." Alfred managed to grit out, running both hands through his hair frantically, "We can't do that."  
"Why not?" when he received no answer, Matthew attempted to reason, "Al, this is ridiculous; there's no way we're gonna get it in, not with them so close. We can always try another time, we don't even need to eat tonight-"

"Matthew!" Alfred half-yelled, before Matthew's eyes widened exponentially and Alfred realised his mistake. He continued, in a significantly lower voice, "Matt, I know you're scared, but we can't give up. Not now."

Matthew just stared at him, unblinking.

Alfred sighed, "We just need to think of another plan. Quick, Mattie, use your brainstorming skills."

Matthew kept his eyes downcast, squinting at the ground in thought. Alfred stared at him intently, as if waiting for Matthew to come up with some golden solution.

An idea flitting through his mind, Matthew uttered, "We could... create a diversion."

Alfred frowned for a while, mulling over Matthew's words before everything clicked.

"Yes! That's excellent, Matt!" Alfred struggled to keep his voice down in his excitement, "If they're Braginski's guys, which I'm pretty sure they are, they'll know for sure who we are, so I could go by them, attract their attention and lead them off. The guy who's being beaten up- whoever he is- will be saved, and you can break a window and nick everything you can. Then... then, if he wants, you can bring that guy home for treatment and escape while I lead them off."

"And what about you?"

Alfred blinked, "What about me?"

"How are you going to escape them?" Matthew demanded, crossing his arms over his chest while attempting to put a stop to his subconscious shivering.

"I... hadn't thought about that." Alfred admitted, scratching the back of his head before offering a half-shrug, "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I have to."

"No, we'll cross it now or not at all." Matthew replied in a vain effort at appearing authoritative.

Alfred sighed, "Mattie, I'll find a way. Lead them off somehow."

Matthew eyed him dubiously, sizing him up hypercritically.

"I don't like this idea." he assessed.

"I thought you might say that."

"It's too risky-"

"It's all we've got-"

"Then we'll think of something else!"  
"We haven't got time, we need to move now or not at all!"  
"Then we won't move." Matthew hissed, startling Alfred slightly. Matthew had never before acted like this during an active 'mission'. In fact, the younger teen had been acting strangely all day.

It unnerved Alfred.

"We have to move, we've got no choice-"

"Bullshit!" Matthew, in a manner most idiosyncratic of him, struggled to keep his voice down, "We need to leave, leave now and come back another day-"

"Now _that's_ bullshit. You know just as well as I that if they take the bank today, they'll have it for another month, and it'll be all out of stock by the time they stop occupying it," at Matthew's unwavering glare, Alfred tried to reason, "Matt, listen. We don't have enough food to last a week, let alone a month, and this is the last food bank in the area left. We can't let this opportunity go to waste, especially when we'll be the responsible ones."

"Then we'll go somewhere else, away from all of this-"

"Oh my God, Mattie, are you even listening to yourself?" Alfred gnashed his teeth together, "You know perfectly why we can't just up and leave-"

Matthew suppressed a scream, "Then we'll do something, we'll figure it out, but we can't do this! This idea of yours isn't even thought out, it's just a thought that crossed your mind, it means nothing! The stakes are too high, they've got _guns_-"

"-so do we!-"

"-and bats and knives, and who knows what else! They will fucking tear us to shreds, and you don't even have an escape plan. Hell, we don't even have a_ backup_ plan. What if- and the chances of this happening are high- what if something goes wrong? What if they see me? What if not all of them give chase? What if they _shoot you on the spot_ and-"

Sensing his brother's growing panic, Alfred interjected, "Matthew, stop it. I'm not going to get shot, and we won't get caught. This _will_ work."

"No. No. No." Matthew repeated as if it would reiterate his point, "No, it won't. We won't do this, there is no way we can-"

"Fuck, Matt, we have no choi-"

"Yes, yes we do! You are not going to risk our lives for something like this!" Matthew all but seethed, growing increasingly angrier.

"So you want to just leave? Go home with nothing, tell the others, our _family_, that we _failed_?" Alfred appeared disgusted, "I know you've never been much of a brawny guy, but this is simply cowardice."  
Matthew proved unable to reply, instead opting to glare at his brother with mounting fury.

"And what about that guy there, huh?" Alfred brought up, furrowing his eyebrows accusingly, "You want to just let him get beaten up? To let him die?"

Matthew didn't reply immediately. Instead he just stared, his lips firmly pressed together as he eyed his brother with something akin to contempt.

Alfred mistook his brother's hesitation as a sign of acceptance, "See? We aren't just doing this for ourselves. We have to save this man-"

"No."

"-and get him to safety before-" Alfred stopped short, as if suddenly realising what Matthew had said. His eyes wide with incredulity, he turned on Matthew, "What did you just say?"

Matthew straightened up slightly, narrowing his eyes in determination, "No."

"No?"

At Alfred's gaping expression, Matthew elaborated, "I- It's not our job to save random strangers, Al," Matthew looked pained to admit this, his voice sounding unbearably forced and strained as if he were relaying the words of another, "We need to focus on _our _survival, not that of strangers. I know it's u-unfortunate, but it's the truth."

At Matthew's words, Alfred could only stare. It took more than a moment for the words to sink in, and when Alfred had come to the brief realisation of Matthew's stance on the matter, he was not happy.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?!" he spat, sickened, "I can't believe this- can't fucking believe it! How- how could you _**say**_ that?!"

Matthew uttered tentatively, "Lower your voice Alfred, you know it's the truth. We can't risk our lives to save someone we don't know, especially when we'd all end up dead."

Alfred shook his head, shocked as he backed away, "You- You're sick. Seriously sick."

Worried that Alfred would step into view of the Braginskis, Matthew took a step forward, "Alfred-"

Alfred's head shaking became more frantic, "You would let an innocent man be beaten to death... let your family starve... you disgust me, Matthew."

Finally reacting emotionally at those words, tears prickled at the edges of Matthew's eyes at the utter revile in Alfred's voice, his show of false-bravado rapidly crumbling, "Al, please-"

Alfred cut him off, "Don't touch me!" he wretched his arm out of the way before Matthew's fingers could so much as graze it, "You want to go home? Fine, go! I can do this myself! I don't need the help of some coward who doesn't have the guts to do what's right for his family!"

"Alfred, please-" Matthew pleaded helplessly, stepping closer with each passing second.

"Go home, if you're so scared, Matthew. I can do this myself."

And with that being said, Alfred promptly turned on his heel and all but dashed off, his feet rapidly pattering against the ground. Matthew, in shock at his brother's haste and sudden flight, allowed his jaw to drop as panic quickly wormed its way inside his heart, his feet completely rooted to the spot as he was rendered momentarily immobile. His jaw was completely slackened as he could do nothing but gape as Alfred slipped off to the side, trying to encircle the Braginskis.

Matthew couldn't stop his continuous trembling, nor could he stop the immeasurable amount of fear that gripped his heart and held it hostage against his desire to do something. He could feel his legs quiver like weak little twigs, ready to snap at any given moment. He gulped audibly when Alfred disappeared completely from sight. Squinting his eyes, Matthew sidled along closer to the edge, straining to see where Alfred had gotten to. All noise seemed to cease for a moment, and when one of the gang members turned his head to look his way, Matthew immediately flung himself behind the wall, his heart's palpitation so fast that he was sure the organ itself would break through his ribcage. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths emerging in the form of sharp inhales and exhales as he prayed to any existing deity that he had not been seen.

He waited, unknowing, as he forced himself to regulate his breathing. His mind was still in shock, refusing to accept what his brother had gotten them into; he knew now that he'd have no other choice but to follow through with Alfred's idiotic plan. When his breathing had been properly regulated, Matthew gave himself some time to recuperate before tentatively leaning forward to peer over the wall.

He jerked back just as instantly, his eyes wide and traumatised at the sound that sliced through the macabre-like silence.

A gunshot.

**A/N: Hey, anyone else think it's awesome how today is Friday the 13th of March, and the 13th of February fell on a Friday, too? It's awesome. Anyway, this is my first Hetalia fic, and as I'm a bit new to this, I'm not sure if I wrote well or not. I just wrote this because I thought it was a unique idea not often seen on the site, and I'd always wanted to read something like this. If this chapter seemed vague or dull, I promise that action will come sooner and I'll explain more as the story progresses. i actually had more planned for the chapter, but felt it was too long so I cut it off here :P. If anyone is interested in reading more, please let me know :3. I have all sorts of things planned out for this story, and I really hope my ideas will come to fruition. Constructive criticism is welcome, as is any kind of review (with the exception of flames...). Thank-you for taking the time to read this!**


	2. Wounded

His heart beating frantically inside his ribcage, Alfred slowed his footsteps to make them as light as possible, his breaths emerging in the form of quietened pants. His baby-blue eyes were wide and alert, scanning the area before him with utmost caution. He narrowed them slightly, taking one step at a time as he attempted to meld with the shadows. His hand rested at his side, and he ducked slightly as he edged closer to a nearby building. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, never daring to so much as throw a backwards glance.

When he was close enough, he stopped and stared at Braginski's men, glowering slightly upon catching a glimpse of the cowering man between them. Even from this more-or-less safe distance, Alfred could clearly see him, his dirtied blond hair spilled out across the floor and his arms over his head protectively. He could barely make out the erratic tremors that coursed through the man's body as he trembled uncontrollably, not daring to release a single sound, his lips firmly pressed together and his eyes squeezed shut. One of the man's assailants leered down at him, taunting him all the while delivering a swift kick to the stomach.

A mixture of anger and repulsion flared within Alfred upon hearing the pained cry that forced its way past the victim's lips. He clenched his left fist, placing his right hand above his holster, looking on as the man was dealt another blow, and another, before the action became so repetitive that all the victim could do was limply bear the pain, his body rendered completely immobile.

A menacing snarl ripped through the back of Alfred's throat, and he inadvertently drew attention to himself. One of the gang members looked his way, his hand shooting to his gun in an instant before whipping it out of his holster and firing at him. He was so quick that Alfred barely had any time to register what was going on, and Alfred thanked his lucky stars that the man was a bad shot. His heart's palpitation augmenting significantly, Alfred automatically sprang into action, procuring his own gun from his holster and aiming at the man's head.

Alfred, although he always claimed otherwise, was inexperienced in the field, and missed by a good two feet. Alfred blamed his failure on the fact that he was running, but had no time to ponder over it as the other gang members came to their senses and lurched forwards, springing after him in hot pursuit. Alfred was tremendously lucky that not all of them were armed with firearms, and that a vast majority were equipped with bats or knives, basically whatever they had been able to scrounge for. He sprinted, his feet pattering across the ground rapidly and his arms swinging back and forth, the adrenaline coursing through his body boosting his speed.

He ran for as long as he could, his glasses bouncing slightly over the bridge of his nose, threatening to slip off. He twisted this way and that, hearing several gunshots behind him, taking advantage of the fact that they were all clad in heavy clothing, and therefore could not run as fast as him. Alfred heard a few of them double back, and he had to fight the urge to take a backwards glance. He continued for as long as he could, eventually forced to slow down somewhat when the problem of breathing difficulty arose.

His slowing down would be his downfall.

A shot rang out and, unlike the previous one, the bullet grazed Alfred's calf, tearing off tiny bits of flesh as it did so. Pain flared up his leg as speckles of blood began to show through his trouser leg, painting it a horrifying crimson.

Red obscured his vision as a blood-curdling scream ripped through his throat, his eyes bulging from their sockets in absolute terror.

Alfred could feel the blood rush to his head, making it pound just as fiercely and fervently as his heart, which beat at such a rate that overexertion was clearly inevitable. He couldn't stop screaming, his vociferous screeches filling the night sky as he forced himself to limp along, drawing even more unwanted attention to himself. Despite being blinded by pain, he could vaguely make out the shape of a corner nearby. He rounded it instantly, skidding slightly on the asphalt ground as he limped along, specks of sanguine fluid splattering down upon the ground to create miniature puddles, panting heavily as he did so. When he regained his footing, Alfred fumbled about with his gun, breathing heavily as he willed himself not to collapse. The adolescent clumsily clicked the safety off before pressing his body up against the brick wall, the barrel of his gun shakily aimed at the corner, waiting for the enemy to bypass it.

He didn't have to wait long, as one of the thugs turned on him, this one armed with a bat.

He lunged forwards, whacking Alfred's forearm before the adolescent could react. Alfred pressed his finger on the trigger in a knee-jerk reaction, releasing an obstreperous bullet into the atmosphere, watching in fixation as it tore through his assailant's midsection, sending the gang member hurtling back.

Alfred stared at the blood pouring from the man's body in vast amounts of liquid, his eyes wide in shock at what he'd just done.

He didn't get the chance to contemplate over it as another man leaped forwards, engaging him in combat. This one wielded a carver knife, and Alfred didn't have time to muse over how odd it was to use such a tool as a weapon as it slashed through the air, almost slicing his face off.

Alfred sucked in a breath at the close call, delivering a swift blow to the man's chest with the aid of his foot, kicking him back before levelling the gun to his face, his finger looming over the trigger.

Before he could claim another life, however, another thug sprang up from behind, having obviously succeeded in sneaking up on him, and grabbed him by the throat, wrapping a beefy arm around his neck as he pressed his appendage into it, with Alfred gasping for air at the newfound constriction. He attempted to kick back at his assailant, but his kicks were forceless and clumsy. His face began to colour at the progressive loss of oxygen, his feeble attempts at biting his assailant's arm proving futile. His windpipe was completely blocked, and, in a matter of time, his eyes rolled back and the sight of the alleyway dissipated.

He was out cold in an instant.

/././././

His eyes wide and frantic, Matthew remained pressed up against the wall in shock, his pallid hand slapped over his mouth in horror. He stood there, completely paralysed, his feet rooted to the spot, his larynx horribly constricted to prevent him from releasing a single vocalisation to voice his distress. He took a sharp, shaky intake of breath, his chest beginning to rise and fall in an arrhythmical manner, his left hand balled into a fist and his right palm applying pressure on his thin lips.

Matthew began to tremble, prompting a series of erratic tremors to course through his body, unrelenting as they forced him to frisson. He quivered so much that his knees threatened to buckle under his weight, and he breathed, inhaled a deep, drawn-out gulp of air, his heart hammering so quickly inside his ribcage that it felt as if it were only a matter of time before it barrelled through.

The memory of the gunshot kept replaying in his head, stuck on repeat as he heard it over, and over, and over again, until finally it became too much for him to bear.

A pained, wavering cry forced its way out of his mouth, his hand successfully muffling it to make it sound like a near-inaudible whimper. A burning heat formed behind his bulbous eyes as he shook furiously, his breaths emerging in the form of laboured gasps and his chest seemingly weighing down upon him, halting his ability to breathe properly.

He stared, unknowing, at the darkness before him, the very same darkness that had long since enshrouded the entire area, claiming it for itself like a lethal parasite. He struggled to regulate his breathing, his eyes whizzing about in hyperventilation as his chest heaved repeatedly, rising and falling in a wavelike motion.

He stayed in that position for a time unbeknownst to him, struggling with his need to do something and his desire to remain alive and intact. He didn't know what had happened to Alfred, didn't know if the gunshot had been for him or for someone else, didn't know if it had made contact, didn't know _anything_.

He grit his teeth together, hearing several more gunshots as his shivers grew more and more erratic. He knew he should do something. By all rights, it was his_ duty_ to do something. He should be out there, with his brother, making use of his distraction in an effective manner, and not cowering pathetically behind the safety of the food bank he was meant to loot.

But what was he to do? How would he do it? Should he rush out, see if his brother was in any danger? Or ought he break into the food bank, and grab everything in sight until his arms collapsed under the weight of the goods?

In his indecision, all the adolescent could do was stand, shock-still, his fear augmenting with each passing second.

The vociferous sound of several shots ringing out in quick succession made him jolt, his innards freezing as soon as the noise had registered in his mind. Despite the clear indication to move his ass and do something, Matthew found that he was unable to so much as twitch, his body refusing to yield to his mental commands.

A gut-wrenching scream split through the night sky.

Despite all previous incentives to do so, it was this that ultimately sealed Matthew's fate.

His body automatically precipitated itself forwards, springing into action as he emerged from his hiding spot at breakneck speed. He raced onwards, his gangly legs swinging back and forth as his feet hailed down upon the ground in unprecedented rapidity. His purplish-blue eyes swept over the area, locking on two, bulky men as they leered down at an indiscernible figure, who lay crumpled upon the ground in an eerily still manner. Matthew's eyes enlarged in shock, and he forced himself not to turn back, pushing forwards, uncertainty marring his features.

It didn't take long for them to take note of his presence, what with him hurtling down at them with all his might, still horrifically unsure of what he was supposed to do when he reached them.

He didn't have time to ponder over it, however, as an audible shuffle was heard and a shot rang out, filling the deadened silence with macabre.

Matthew's eyes were wide and frantic, his expression frenetic and petrified, his lips pursed firmly together to form a rigid line, his arms surging backwards and forwards, his heart's palpitation erratic as its beats increased dramatically, his feet never ceasing to patter upon the ground as a bullet hurled past him an-_**oh my fucking God!**_

His feet skidded to an abrupt halt, his breaths emerging in visible, wispy pants as he gawked at the gunman, doe-eyed, his chest heaving and falling rapidly. Matthew's incredulity was only preceded by his immense shock, a tint of indescribable fear present in those violet-coloured eyes, sparkling brilliantly like a horrifying beacon of terror.

A guttural grunt, "What's this?"

"Looks like a kid."

Matthew, in all his shock and fear, barely registered the look that was exchanged between the two masked gunmen, the unarmed one silently urging his compeer to take the shot. A sharp nod, and the armed gunman raised his gun once more and trained it on the pallid and youthful face of Matthew, whose entire body had blanched over.

"P-p-please." he managed to choke out upon spotting the gunman's forefinger, which lingered threateningly over the trigger, "P-please don't."

The gunman cocked his gun.

Every fibre of Matthew's being told him to go, to get the fuck out of here, to run away as fast as he could, to escape, to just _move_, to leave before he _died_-

_Die._

That was it, wasn't it?

_**Die.**_

He was going to die.

Oh God.

_He was going to die._

Oh God!

Oh good God!

This couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

It. Was. Not. Possible.

He wouldn't- he_ couldn't_\- not _now_-

A shuffle.

Matthew snapped his eyes shut.

A click.

A gasp.

Silence.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the echo of the trigger's click.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the lilting breeze that impeded the otherwise silent atmosphere.

But then that moment was broken.

It took nary half a minute for Matthew to realise that he was still standing, alive and breathing.

It took nary half a minute for the gunman to realise that his attempt on Matthew's life had failed, the gun in his hand void of bullets, its cartridge emptied.

Matthew couldn't believe it; he could not believe his luck.

He'd been saved by a cliché. An incredible, impossible kind of cliché. The kind that only exists in films. The kind that never happens to _anyone_ in real life.

And he'd been saved by it.

Matthew had no time to ponder over this miraculous happening; the sound of metal thwacking against the asphalt ground jutted him out of his thoughts.

The gunman, who had only just recklessly thrown his gun away, began advancing on Matthew, paying little to no attention to his compeer, who regarded him with what Matthew could only guess was incredulity.

A new, fresh wave of fear crashed into Matthew and his eyes widened tenfold, blubbering pleas escaping him before he could fully register what was going to happen, "D-don't- I- p-please don't, I'll leave, please-"

The ex-gunman spoke not a word as he approached the adolescent with daunting steps- a muffled whimper from behind the other thug alerted no one- and Matthew, feet-glued-and-rooted-to-the-ground Matthew, finally found the ability to wrench his legs away from their immovable position, distancing himself from the masked man in a sprint; the thug gave chase immediately, yelling profusely, and Matthew could just barely auscultate yet another pair of feet sprinting after them.

For what was most certainly not the first time that day, fear seized him and compressed his chest, serving as his primary source of adrenaline as he ran faster than ever before.

But even his fastest was not enough.

There came a point where sprinting could only do so much; there came a point where exhaustion preceded the desire and need to live.

That point had been reached.

Matthew could do nothing as he slowed down, his footfalls growing feebler and feebler, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and prickling instinctively before it happened.

A rough hand shot out and grabbed him by the neck, wrapping its fingers around it in a death grip as it applied its full weight on the nape and pushed forwards, making both Matthew and his assailant tumble forth. Matthew's body crumpled and hit the ground with a forceful pang, his attacker's body collapsing over his.

Matthew gasped for air, and the weight of his assailant's body was lifted off his immobile form. Before he had time to react, however, a foot connected sharply with his side and he kept his mouth ajar in a silent scream, pain being the only thing he could feel. He rolled over on his back instinctively, clutching at his side, blearily glaring up at his assailants- the other had caught up to them- through tears of pain. Before he could begin to formulate an escape plan, or even get up off the ground, a baseball bat came into his eye's view, and he had nary half a second to screech before it was brought down upon his face.

Pain.

All he could feel was pain as the hits increased in frequency and augmented in brutality, trails of sanguine fluid leaking from every open pore and gash of his body. He was thwacked here, and whacked there, a particularly sharp jab to his chest prompting him to hack out blood. He haplessly reached out at his assailants, intending to grab the baseball bat and use it to his own advantage, but to no avail; Matthew's forehead was knocked back with the edge of the aforementioned bat, and his head was grabbed by the wavy strands of gold that it was covered in, tainted by small speckles of crimson. It was then slammed back against the ground, and Matthew's lips parted to release an irrepressible cry of agony, before he was effectively silenced with a winding smack directed just above his midsection and below his diagram, courtesy of his assailant's baseball bat.

Matthew struggled to regulate his breathing, his vision growing evermore hazy and disorientated. Blurred by spots of black and haunted by specks of scarlet, his eyesight worsened with each hit he received, a semblance of tunnel vision appearing before his mind's eye as the threatening shapes meld to form one, his breathing growing shallower and shallower-

_**BAM!**_

A body fell atop of Matthew's own.

The thug attacking Matthew dealt him another blow before halting in his tracks, his head snapping up to face his partner's lifeless corpse. Matthew remained motionless, his lacklustre eyes gazing up at the sky, his arms limply spread out on either side of his person, a lone trail of burgundy trickling from the side of his face and cascading down his bruised and rosy cheek.

The ex-gunman gave a cry and draped himself over the dead man and picked his body off of Matthew, gently turning his head to the side as he applied his body weight on Matthew's numbingly limp form. Matthew couldn't see the man's body- he couldn't see much of anything- but he could feel his assailant's muscles tensing up against his midsection, could feel the slight vibrations emitted by the man coursing over to his own body.

Neither Matthew nor the man currently positioned atop of him had time to react as another shot rang out.

A bullet tore through the man's neck, bathing Matthew's own in blood as it splattered across his upper body, from his chest, to his throat, to the lower half of his face. Matthew blinked his eyes, glancing down at the blood coating his chest- there wasn't much, as the bullet hadn't provided big enough of an orifice to drain so much blood- but it was enough to shock him into a comatose-like state.

His body remained in a petrified position, lain down across the dirty floor, with two corpses draped over it. Both mind and body were in shock, and it took him a good while for his mind to process what had happened.

But by then it was too late.

A shuddering breath that had subconsciously escaped him and caused his chest to heave alerted this new threat of his presence- and more importantly, his status as a living, sentient being- and before he could begin to fully register the shocking murders he had bared witness to, another bullet was released into the atmosphere, one that hurtled towards his side and smashed through his bruised and beaten-down body.

There was no stopping it this time.

Matthew's lips were ripped apart to enable a sickening screech to escape, one that almost tore his throat asunder as he ululated his agony at the heavens, shrieking for all it was worth.

Matthew's breaths progressively began to quicken, his heart palpitating fervently in his chest as his blood rushed to his head, his ears pounding furiously as he continued to scream, with fleeting pauses of inhaling shaky breaths being the only intervals he took.

The pain was nothing like he'd ever felt before, the agony too much to bear; he could barely feel the blood pour out of the newly-made orifice in his side, pooling out onto the asphalt ground. He couldn't think, couldn't see, and at this point, wasn't sure if he could truly _feel_ anymore- all he could do was scream, scream until his voice grew tired and hoarse and all he could do was croak, scream until either his lungs gave out or until he was silenced permanently.

And scream he did.

The sound of scuttling footsteps and the fleeting sight of a shadow looming over his broken body barely registered in his mind's eye; a sharp jab to the jaw silenced him momentarily. He squinted up through tears of pain at the figure above him- a dark silhouette with glowing eyes the colour of a vivid crimson.

Matthew sucked in a few breaths, parting his lips as his right hand trembled above the gaping hole in his side, the tips of his fingers coated in blood. He was about to scream again when the person hovering over his broken body suddenly drooped to a crouch, low enough so that a glare of moonlight made direct contact with the top of its head, which seemed to be nothing more than a shock of white to Matthew. That hair- a blur of silver- and those eyes- those terrifying, demon-like eyes that scrutinised him with utmost precision- made for a bizarre sight that assured Matthew he was hallucinating.

"You're not one of them."

Came the voice of the demon, soft in a rugged sort of way that told Matthew that it was not meant to be so, a tint of amusement underlying the creature's every word.

Matthew's chest began to heave as its eyes roamed over his immobile body, meticulously soaking in every detail.

"Hmm, that doesn't look so good."

Matthew produced a small gasp when it laid gloved hands upon the open wound, its fingers rough and calloused as they prodded gently at the orifice. Matthew's eyes were trained on those of the man who'd shot him, and he felt his skin crawl with an indescribable sensation at the fleeting glint that flickered through those orbs of scarlet.

Then, in one, sudden, movement, the figure stood upright, grabbing at something around his neck before tossing that something down at him. It landed on his midsection, and Matthew had to bite his lower lip to refrain from screaming, uncertain of what it was. His vision was rapidly beginning to blur, and his head felt light and airy as he skimmed his forefinger and thumb over what had been dumped upon him.

"It's a scarf," the voice declared as Matthew's quivering fingers coiled themselves around the fabric, "You can use it to apply pressure over that wound or whatever- it's pretty nasty for one bullet, but I suppose that's just my fine marksmanship at work."

Matthew's lips parted once more, "O-o-oh-"

The man gave a roll of his eyes, "Don't worry; you'll live. Just call an ambulance or something and you should be fine."

Matthew's eyes trailed back down to the scarf, lifting an unsteady hand to push it over his wound. His breaths emerged in unsteady pants as a horrifying thought flitted through his mind, "_Inernalbleedy_."

"Huh?"

Matthew felt as though he were going to throw up, heaving.

"_Inter- intern__**bleed**_-"

"What was that?"

A strangled cry, "I- internal b-b-bleeding-"

"Oh yeah. I forgot that was a possibility," the red-eyed man paused a moment, "Shit."

Matthew struggled to apply pressure over the newly-covered wound, his eyelids drooping slightly.

The red-eyed man did not fail to take note of this, "Oh fuck. This is bad. Argh, shit- you have a phone somewhere I can use to call an ambulance or something? Fuck."

Matthew heaved a shuddering breath in response.

"Okay. Crap. This isn't gonna work. The chances of your survival just decreased significantly. Eurgh- okay. Hang on, I'll- I'll help ya up."

Matthew sucked in a shuddering breath as his upper body was effortlessly plucked off the ground. A gloved hand grabbed his right arm and slung it over the man's shoulders as Matthew was uprooted into a standing position. He wobbled slightly, and the red-eyed man stumbled with him, struggling to keep him in place.

"Hey, easy, easy." he attempted to put a stop to Matthew's unsteadiness, and before either of them could register what had happened, Matthew keeled over and hurled, regurgitating profusely as an endless stream of vomit rained down upon the ground. This continued for several more minutes, and by the time Matthew's stomach was successfully emptied, white-haired man had distanced himself, standing a few paces away with a repulsed expression etched upon his face.

"Yeurghk." came the disgusted voice of the demonic man, and Matthew watched as he tentatively side-stepped the pool of vomit. Matthew soon found himself tensing up as the man wrapped a hesitant arm around his torso to help steady him. "That was disgusting, but... warranted. Think you can walk?"

Matthew gave a sharp nod, his lips pressed firmly together as he limped forth, applying his weight on the man who had wounded him to this point.

They walked a while before realisation hit Matthew.

"You-" the man turned his head to the side to stare at him, "You shot me."

"Yes." said man answered, making no attempt at hiding his amusement.

Utterly speechless, Matthew questioned, "W-why?"

"I thought you were one of them- my bad though."

Matthew didn't quite know how to react to the man's nonchalance, and remained in stunned silence.

They continued their walk in quiescence up until the silver-haired stranger decided to speak.

"I'm gonna have to drop you off somewhere- we're smack bang in the middle of the slums, so it's not like I can just drop you off at some hospital. Your best bet is if you stay with one of the locals," a flash of understanding passed through those orbs of crimson, "... which isn't saying much, all things considered, but you know. Beggars can't be choosers."

After inwardly debating on whether or not it was safe to continue speaking to the man who had shot him, Matthew managed a shake of his head and groaned out, "The locals here aren't... aren't exactly... the friendliest type."

The man gave a backwards glance, "So I gathered." he glanced back at Matthew, "But right now, I'm willing to bet they're your only shot at survival. A bullet wound to the side doesn't look too grave on the outside, but if that thing gets an infection, well, you're as good as dead, pal."

Matthew had nothing to say to that.

"And even if it doesn't, you're very likely to die anyway. And soon, if it doesn't get proper treatment. Unless, of course, you know someone around the area that I could take you to...?"

The fleeting look of deliberation crossed Matthew's face for a split second, and he briefly appeared to be mulling over his answer before murmuring, "No, I- I don't know anyone here."

The red-eyed man clicked his tongue, "Shame. It would've been so much easier that way. Ah, well. Guess I'll just have to dump you in front of the first person willing to take you in... that is, if any of them will be."

Matthew gave another shake of his head, "No, that- that won't be necessary."

A dubious look was shot Matthew's way, "Heh? What's that?"

"I don't feel- I'm not going to go around the houses of hostile strangers for help. I'd be safer left alone to my bullet wound," Matthew heaved a light sigh and gazed out in the distance, "It's every man for himself out here."

"So... what? What do you want me to do? Cause I sure as hell don't have the fucking time to take you all the way to the city-"

"- And you don't have to," Matthew uttered, "Just- leave me here, alright?"

The man squinted his eyes, "Leave you here?"

"Yeah. I need to... to find my brother anyway."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, he- he went off after these guys- guys from the same group as the gangsters that you, ehrm- shot," an uncomfortable expression settled over Matthew's facial features, "- and he hasn't come back since."

A heavy silenced weighed down upon the duo, one that remained unbroken for the longest time.

But when it did break, it was the stranger who committed the deed, "When did he disappear?"

"Just now. I mean, not long ago. Today."

The light-haired man cocked a brow, jerking his head at Matthew's side, "And you expect to find him with that?"

"Ehh..." Matthew glanced down, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed down the urge to throw up (again) at the covered wound. His eyes uneasily flickered back up to meet those of the white-haired man, "Well... Look, I don't have a choice. I have to find him."

The man eyed him back, levelling him with a thoughtful look, "And say you do? What are you going to do then?"

Matthew answered easily, "Bring him home."

"Hmm. I'm curious; just how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Matthew bristled at the less-than-easy question to answer, however he indulged the man with a plain, "I just will."

"That simple, huh?"

Matthew pursed his lips slightly, "Yes, it is."

"And what if you can't just simply 'bring him home'? What if he's surrounded? What if you are? Or better yet," the man paused, his red eyes glinting slightly, "what if he's dead?"

Matthew's own flashed for the briefest moment, "He's not."

"How do you know?" at Matthew's silence, the crimson-eyed man pressed on, "He could be long gone. Or dying right now. You have no way of knowing. And then you'd have gone through all that trouble for nothing."

"Forgive my saying, but my brother is not 'nothing'." Matthew contested, to which the man grinned.

"Look at you, so defensive all of a sudden" the man chortled, smirking slightly before his upturned lips settled back down, "Listen, if you wanna go, go ahead. Personally, I wouldn't do it in the state you're in, but if you want to save your brother that much? Hell, it's your life you're ending. In my eyes, this pearl of wisdom that I just bequeathed to you makes us even. My job here is done."

Matthew struggled to comprehend the man's reasoning, "How- how does a piece of useless advice- advice that I won't h-heed- make us even? You- you _shot_ me-"

"-and I saved your life from those guys. You're welcome."

"You could have killed me!"

"-But I didn't-"

"That's not the point! Ergh-"

Crimson eyes regarded Matthew watchfully as he clutched at his side, his face contorted in pain.

"D-damn, it _hurts_-"

"Yeah, no shit," the man paid no heed to the glare that was thrown his way, "Look, not that it's my place to say, but going to get your brother in the state you're in is plain pitiful, not to mention pathetic."

Matthew slowly raised his head, "_E-excuse_ me?"

"I'm willing to bet that you'll be dead the instant you walk back to that shitty place. I mean shit. You can't even walk straight!"

"S-so what?" Matthew challenged through gritted teeth, his normally limitless patience wearing thin.

The man shook his head and tutted, "Ah, fuck. You really are a stubborn one. Well, can't say I didn't warn you. 'Sides, I got my own little mission to attend to. I've wasted enough time saving your ass-"

"-You fucking _shot_ me-!"

"-and although our little chat was interesting and crap, it's time we parted ways."

Matthew could not help but second that sentiment.

"But hey, you have fun on your suicide mission!"

Matthew scowled, but before he could say anything more, the man was gone.

Matthew waited a while, a little at a loss as to what he should do, standing on the spot before finally deciding it was time to find his brother. He turned around, tracking the way back to the food bank with dreary steps, praying to any deity that may exist that it wasn't too late.

Little did he know that his prayers would fall on deaf ears...

**A/N: … Second chapter wasn't worth the wait, huh? Well, I can't say I blame you- I decided to cut things short here, given that I haven't updated in months and that I felt it was long enough. I realise that some of the characters may have been OOC, and that things may have been a little rushed. I am also aware of the fact that I wasn't particularly discreet with the identity of Matthew's "rescuer". But he is in this story for a reason, and although I feel I may have introduced him too early, he has an important role to play in what is to come. So I get that this was pretty lacklustre, and doesn't really expand on the characters in this AU, but the next chapter will resolve this little thing and then we can get on to the real story. I offer my sincerest apologies for the long wait, the rather... lame chapter and the sharing of my insecurities xD. Next chapter will be up much sooner than it took me to put this one up, and that's where things will, for the first time, get exciting. Until next time~! :)**


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